Love Hurts
by Morbidmuch
Summary: I wasn’t lying, I did want him. I wanted him because he was the only one who could save me.WARNING: Character death.


**A/N: Re-write of my first X-men fic ever. I've fleshed it out alot, and it's both longer and, hopefully, better than the previous story. Takes place after the third movie.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except for the plot.**

* * *

**Love hurts**

"**Love hurts, love scars, love wounds and marks  
any heart not tough, or strong enough"**

It's past midnight when I leave my room, clad in a thin robe and satin nightgown. The hallway is deserted, and no one sees me as I open the door at the end of the hallway. Logan is sitting at the foot of his bed, watching some crappy reality show on his small TV. He doesn't look up when I step in.

"I knew you'd come," he says, taking a swing from his beer, and I study him for a moment as I remove my robe and nightgown and let the items fall to the floor. Wild, untameable hair and mutton-chops that hasn't been in fashion since the corset's days. His mouth, which at the moment has formed a small, smart-ass grin, and his eyes, which has moved from the TV to me, studying me. I can lose myself in their hazel depths, and I don't look away from them.

"I know,"

The brown bottle in his hand is put down next to the TV as he turns it off. Standing up, he moves towards me, like a predator stalking on its prey, and I shiver in anticipation. He moves closer and closer, until we are standing chest to chest. His breath is hot on my face, and I can smell the beer he drank only a minute ago.

"Make me forget," I demand and he crashes his mouth against mine in a searing kiss that leaves me breathless.

His hands goes everywhere on my skin lighting fires where they touch, and I moan against his mouth.

My back hits the bed, and my body tings with lust as he removed his clothes and moves over my body. His weight on top of me is welcoming, I need it. It makes me feel real.

His mouth on my breasts, his fingers between my legs. Groans falls from my mouth. He growls as he pushes into me, and the sound is mixed with my keening one. His fingers in my hair, tipping my head back for access to my neck. It's my only weak spot. I can feel the pressure start to build in my lower stomach. My legs wraps around his hips, trapping him within me, holding him to me. Keeping him grounded.

"More." The command is obeyed. He pushes harder, faster, deeper. Hitting that special spot with every stroke.

We fly high together, and soar in the sky before we crash to the ground. I know that he values this short moment, because it's the only time I let him hold me, too exhausted to think of all the reasons to push him away.

As soon as my breathing is back to normal though, I push him away. "I have to go." I can hear him sigh as I leave the bed and gather my clothes, putting them on with my back turned to him. It's always like this. Every night I come to him, for the same reason every time. So that he can heal me. Save me from the darkness I'm falling deeper and deeper in to. I feel that soon, I will be too deep in for rescuing. I turn around just as I open the door, and I can see his eyes light up, still hoping.

His eyes, they're so different from time to time. Black with anger, hazel with love, and yellow when the Wolverine stepped out. He is hard to read, almost impossible. His constant mask, shielding him from the world, from getting hurt.

"I love you Marie," he says low, and I snap out of my daze. He is still sitting in bed, the sheet the only thing covering him, and he makes no attempt to put up his usual mask, so I can clearly read every emotion on his face.

"I'll see you tomorrow," is all I say before I leave, closing the door silently behind me. I walk slowly down the hall towards my room. The bare souls of my feet move soundlessly against the rug and I push a piece of white hair from my face. For every door I pass I think about the people who are sleeping so innocently in there. Kitty, Bobby, Peter, Warren. They know nothing about mine and Logan's nightly routines. It's for the best, anyway.

We have been doing this for months, ever since Bobby broke up with me a month after I took the cure. Being able to touch again, it had devastated me that I had no one to touch. That was until Logan started to make moves on me. I knew that he was heart-broken from killing Jean, and only saw me as a consolation prize, but that was what I wanted too. No strings attached, screwing at night and ignoring each other daytime.

When I reach my room, I find it empty. I don't mind. Jubilee is living in the dorm of the college she's attending, and I have the room to myself. I close the door silently behind me and walk in the dark to the bathroom, where I flick on the light. I look at myself in the mirror, hating what I see. I don't look any different from before I took the cure, from when I first slept with Logan, from the time when I was truly happy, content. I should look different, but I don't. I sit down on the floor, leaning against the wall and take out the razor-blade I keep taped up under the sink so that Logan won't see it. I study it for a while, liking the way the light reflected in the sharp smooth surface before I hold out my left wrist and drag the blade slowly over my wrist, up towards my elbow. It makes a shallow inch long gash, and I look down at my wrist as the blood starts to seep out and drip on the floor. Both my wrist are already scarred with my previous attempts to relieve myself from the pain I feel constantly, and I had to start dressing in long sleeved tops again. And again, because of my skin.

When I start to feel a bit dizzy I take out an already bloodied towel and press it on my wrist to stop the bleeding. I don't want to die yet; I don't deserve to die yet. I want to feel the pain a bit longer, because that's what I deserve. For taking the cure, for using Logan and causing him so much pain. I know that he's fallen in love with me, or so he says. So I deserve the pain for using him, for breaking his heart every night. He would never admit it though; the big bad Wolverine doesn't get a broken heart. But Logan does, the dominate part of him that's in control for most of the time.

I clean of the blood from the razor-blade and stick it back under the sink before I wgo to bed, still pressing the bloody towel against my wrist. The same old thought runs through my head; why should I live when there is nothing to live for?

---

"Hey Marie, what're you doing?" I look up at the sound of his voice, and see Bobby standing next to the bench I'm currently occupying.

"It's Rogue," I say coldly. Only Logan is allowed to call me Marie.

Bobby sits down next to me, eyeing me with a look of something in his eyes. "I know what you're doing," he states calmly and I narrow my eyes at him. Only a month ago I would have said that his face was beautiful in its boyish charm, but not now.

"Excuse me?" I ask, a frown on my face.

"You and Logan. I've seen you, and heard you." I give no response to that, it's none of his business what I do and with whom. I stand up to walk away, but am haltered by his cruel words. "Whore!" I look back at him. His face is twisted into a snarl, and I finally recognized the look in his eyes. Disgust. I ignore him, he isn't worth my time, and keep on walking. As I come to the door outside Storm's room, her voice is heard from the inside.

"Rogue, could you come here for a second?" I walk in slowly, a far away look in my eyes, and Storm gives me a genuine smile. She likes to pretend that she knows how I'm feeling, that she can help. She can't. "How are you feeling Rogue?" I only shrug and Storm puts a comforting hand on my shoulder. "If you ever need to talk, I'm here for you." I nod before I walk back into the hallway. I haven't smiled for over a month. I haven't laughed for over a month. I can't feel happiness, I can't feel anything. I am numb.

---

When I come to Logan's room the next night, something has changed. He won't look at me, his stare is fixed at the wall.

"Logan…" I whisper and sit down next to him, putting my hand on his thigh. That's when he snaps, I think. He pushes me down on the bed and in only a second he is on top of me and we're both naked, our clothing ripped to sheds by his claws. It's never been like this before. Not this rough. He takes me hard and fast, and I bite my lip until I tasted blood not to squeal in pain. He hurts me, and the pain is almost too much for me to handle. When he is done he stands up and walks into the bathroom. I smooth down my hair and wrap the sheet around me before standing up. When he comes out, dressed in new clothes, he looked feral. His eyes is black with anger, and I can see them flicker yellow as he struggles for control.

"I hate you." I'm taken by shock. He has never said that to me before. "Get dressed and get out," he growls and turns his back towards me. I stare at his back for a second, and then snatch up a flannel shirt from the floor and tug it on. When I've buttoned it I look at him again, through teary eyes this time, but he doesn't turn around, so I leave.

---

As I sit on my bathroom floor, I want to end it all; make all the pain go away. I look at the razor-blade in my hand, studying its beauty. No one else understands the pull it has to me. No one else can see how beautiful it is. I lift up my wrist and stare at the blue veins running under the skin of my wrist. They are nearly invisible below all the scars. I wonder if it will be painful. Dying. That's when I make my decision. I've done a lot of God awful things in my life, but making Logan hate me is the thing that pushes me over the edge. I stand up and walk over to my desk. There I pull out a paper and a pen and write down a few sentences, my last words, the only thing he needs to know. I lock my bedroom door before I walk back into the bathroom and sit down again, my back against the wall and my legs in an Indian-style position. I leave the bathroom door open, the darkness of my bedroom seems welcoming.

Magneto is still whispering in my head, along with Logan and David. O'le Magneto is cheering me on, telling me to do it, and for once, I do as I am told. I drag the razor-blade down my wrist again, harder this time, and hiss in pain as the blood start to leak out and run down my arm. I switch hands and do the same on my right wrist, which is a lot harder considering that I am loosing blood fast. The tears that are falling down my face mixes with the blood, and drips onto the floor.

After a few seconds, I start to feel really weak and dizzy, so I put down the razor blade and stretch out my legs in front of me. It feels almost like taking a painkiller and drifting off into a deep sleep. I sit there, staring at the photo of me and Logan from a few years ago that I've brought into the bathroom with me. It's taken outside in the gardens. In it I'm looking at Logan, a small smile on my lips as he looks back at me, one of his rare smiles grazing his lips. I wonder how long it will be until someone finds me. How long will it take until I am missed? I look up from the photo when I hear someone knocking on my bedroom door.

"Marie? Are you okay?" It's Logan; and I know that he can smell the blood which means that I don't have long until he'll barge in here. My eyes are becoming more difficult to hold open, and I can feel the darkness enveloping me. With my last bit of strength I look at the photograph again, touching our 2D smiles with my bloody fingers. Faintly I hear a door break open, and I try to speak. Words are coming out but I'm not sure if he hears me.

"I…love…you…Logan."

**LOGAN POV**

Knock. Knock.

"Marie? Are you okay?" No answer. Fuck. I need to apologize. Telling Marie that I hated her wasn't exactly my smartest move. It's not true, either. She just gets me so mad.

Knock. Knock.

Still no answer. Accepting the fact that she's obviously not in her room, I turn to leave. That's when I smell it. Blood. Marie's blood. I knew that she's been cutting herself, it's of hard not to with the scars on her arms. I tried to talk to her about it, but the only result I got was her ignoring me for a week.

I try to open the door, but it's locked. "Marie!" I call out, knocking harder. The blood smell is stronger now, and I almost gag. Not her. I need her. Raising my left leg I kick the door in, hearing the wood crack as it gave in under the pressure. Her bedroom is bathed in darkness, with a beam of light coming from the bathroom, where the door is open. More smell of blood. And then I hear it.

"I…love…you…Logan,"

I sprint to the bathroom, and am left standing in the doorway in shock.

My beloved Marie is sitting on the floor. Pale, dead. Her brown eyes is still staring straight ahead, traces of tears on her face, but there's no life in them. They're blank, empty. Blood is still dripping from her arms and onto the floor, and a bloody razor-blade is lying next to her limp hand.

The sound of her dripping blood shakes me out of my shock, and I rush up to her, sliding down on my knees on the floor and embracing her. Cradling her limp body in my arms, holding her close to me. I can feel tears start to form in my eyes, and I let them. Sobs wracks through my body, and wails of anguish is heard out to the corridor. I lift a blood smeared hand to stroke her hair, the white tendrils that are the evidence of her first encounter with death. Her heart had stopped beating for over two minutes before her power kicked in. Those were the longest two minutes of my life.

I hear a scream and sobs coming from the door, and realize that I must have woken up the students when I kicked down her door.

"Logan," I hear Storm's voice from behind me. "She's gone. Let go,"

I don't. I only clutch Marie's body to me tighter, trying for force myself to believe that it's all a dream. But I know it's not. I'll never see her smile again. Never talk to her again, never feel her kiss me again.

Never, never, never, never.

---

I don't cry as I see my Marie laying cold and dead in the coffin. I just sit there, completely numb, and stare at her beautiful face which looks so pale in the yellow lights. For the millionth time I pull out the note that I found on her desk. Her last words.

_Dear Logan_

_I'm so sorry for everything that I have done to you, for using you like I did. I understand that you hate me, but please know this; I love you. I finally figured it out._

_I'll love you forever, Marie_

I look up when a hand lay down on my shoulder, and I don't even try to fake a smile when I see Storm's tear-streaked face.

"What would have driven her into this? She was only 19."

I look down at the note in my hands. I've read it so much that it's nearly fallen into two pieces. "Me. I told her I hated her,"

"It's not your fault. She knew that you loved her,"

"Love," I correct her. "I love her." The only woman I've ever truly loved is dead, and it's all because of me. I may as well have killed her myself. Her blood is on my hands.

--

I sigh as I look out over the gardens, and the fluffy white snow that's covering them. It's been six months since I found Marie dead in her bathroom. I'm never going to forget that sight, and it's taken me this long just to not hit something when I hear someone mentioning her name. Storm had held a beautiful service for her, burying her next to Scott, Jean and the professor. I had put down my dog tags in the coffin with her, I didn't want them anymore. They only reminded me of her, and my promise to protect her.

I went back to her room a few days ago; it was the first time I'd been there since she died. The blood had been cleaned up, but otherwise it still looked exactly the same. I had shed a few tears as I looked around, remembering the good and the bad times they had gone through. Her black silk nightgown had lain on her bed, and I had picked it up gently before pressing it to my nose, inhaling her smell. Still clutching the nightgown in my hand, I had left the room, closing and locking the door behind me. Her room was never to be touched or entered again, as a tribute.

Drawing my mind back to the present, I walk down the stone stairs to the garden, and steer my steps towards her grave. While there I fall down on my knees, and reach out to brush away the snow from the lettering in the stone.

"Hi, it's me again. I just wanted to know how you were doing. Silly question, isn't it? Well, you know me, I've never been good with words," I touch the gravestone gently, feeling its cold surface underneath my fingers. "I'm not doing so well. I don't know how I'll survive any longer without you." I sniff as a lonely tear make its way down my cheek. I bring the yellow rose I brought up to my lips and kiss it before placing it on the ground. "I'll be back tomorrow. I love you." And with those words I leave, my hands buried deep into my pockets, head bent down to avoid the wind. The snow does little to warm me up as I once again walk away from my dead lover's grave.

THE END

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